Even Bunny Had Bullies
by Macetree
Summary: He didn't always have boomerangs or egg-bombs, and he wasn't always a master of Tai Chi. In fact, in his youth he usually just kept his ears down, his glasses secure and his twitchy nose pressed into a good book. A glimpse into Aster's AU childhood (Still a Pooka). This was a personal essay that I thought might work well as a scene from his back story. Let me know what you think!


_Honestly, I doubt that the Pooka had lockers. But who knows? Enjoy, and let me know if you would like to read more. _

I didn´t realize that I had developed a bad hiding habit until the day they closed the library during lunch.

By regular school standards, it was hardly a library. There were four long shelves of books tucked away in those weird carpet barrier sheets; the kind that Velcro together. The room was complete with a few cheap tables posted outside the flimsy barricade for students like me who had no friends to study or eat with.

Not that I ever sat at them, like a normal person.

No. Instead, I preferred to tuck myself into a dusty bookshelf corner, ensconced and safe behind my pathetic carpeted fortress. The shelves were high enough to block my tall ears from view when I crouched down low enough. If I managed to slip inside without being noticed, then I was more or less relieved for the following hour, and I could lose myself in whatever book I happened to be devouring at the time.

But, it didn't always turn out so peacefully. There were a few times when I got caught by the librarian. He would roll his eyes and 'invite' me to sit at the tables saying "you know the rules, no reading by the bookshelves."

Whoever made that rule was an idiot, and probably hadn't finished a non-fiction book in all of their life.

Anyway, I was a good student and a polite kid, so the usually inattentive adult never felt the need to reprimand me too harshy, it seemed.

That didn't stop him from getting on my bad side. His interference ripped me from my sanctuary and condemned me to minutes of either: empty foot-tapping as I anticipated _their_ arrival, or, pretending to not be bothered by the two jerks I was trying to avoid when they did have the craving to hunt for me in there.

Yes, the two bratty boys. My daily antagonists. The first one was tall, had a large nose and a dark, curly coat. I knew where he lived, because five years earlier he had been my best friend´s neighbor. Things change when you´re a teenager I guess, because he no longer waved or politely ignored me. Instead he shoved me, hard, against the lockers and tried to knock off my glasses or steal my schoolbag in a pathetic game of one-sided diversion. The other one was short and had black lips that never quite seemed to close all of the way, due to his excessively large , grimy teeth. His yellow fur was straight and clumpy, sticking out here and there like a bad straw hat. His black nose was always runny, no matter what season it was.

Since I went out of my way to not bother anyone, and especially not to make false friends or worthless enemies, I have no idea why they had a beef with me. Maybe they saw some of the sweets my mother had somehow hidden in my locker for my birthday, and they were offended that I didn´t offer them any? Maybe I ignored them too many times while reading, and they were stupid enough to take it personally? I can think of no other possible reason for them to make my school recesses such an intense game of cat and mouse.

Looking back, I think that the fuss was mostly in my head. They only pushed me a few times, and after I promised to split their noses if they did it again, they backed off considerably; resorting instead to following me around, tripping me or calling insults to my back. . . which brings me back to why I hid between the quiet library shelves in the first place. To simply to avoid a run-in with them.

I was serious about splitting their noses. My parents would have been livid with me for getting into a fight, but I would've done it anyway.

My plan was to wait until they threw the first punch, and then knee the dark one in the stomach, kick the short one in the jaw, and then pump out as many hits as I could at whichever one recovered first before the school security officer got involved. Getting hit back was expected, and I was fine with getting beat up as long as my facial bones and teeth stayed intact. Using my long legs to attack and protecting my head with my arms would have kept me safe enough for my own satisfaction.

But, they never threw the first punch, so I never got to use my plan. It would have been so satisfying to get the permanent tension that _they_ had caused out of my shoulders and onto their jerky faces, but I never did.

And I have no one to blame but myself, because I never gave them the chance to start a fight. I was too busy hiding in my corner of the library to have my fantasy face-off with them.

Thinking about even now, centuries later, fills me with nothing but shame and regret.

I should´ve stood up. I should´ve trusted my fight or flight adrenaline. I should´ve looked them in the eyes. My precious hero storybooks, the ones that inspired me to make a self-defense plan in the first place were my rectangular shields as I retreated, pulled back and 'flew' away.

I may have saved myself from being punished by my parents and my twitchy nose from getting split, but my self-respect still hasn´t forgiven me for my weakness all those years ago. A chipped tooth would´ve been a small price to pay for the pride and courage I would´ve felt for fighting back.

But, no. I had to hide in the library instead, wasting my time by worrying or holding my temper when I could have solved my own problem once and for all.

Flimsy walls will protect a flimsy person just fine, I guess.

Good thing I learned my lesson eventually.


End file.
